Page 152 of Private Lives

‘But you can tell us what you think,’ said Sam.

Louise turned on the tap, then snapped it off and swung round to face them again.

‘Look, I hardly saw Amy for months before she died.’

‘But you were good friends, weren’t you?’ asked Sam.

‘She was my flatmate for a little while; she was lovely then,’ said Louise, a smile creeping on to her face. ‘But towards the end? We didn’t have so much in common. She was a party girl and, well, she had her own agenda.’

‘Agenda?’ prompted Anna.

‘She wanted to marry a rich man,’ said Louise. ‘Started hanging around with people who could help her towards that goal.’

‘She was dating someone wealthy, wasn’t she, around the time she died?’

‘I don’t know,’ Louise snapped.

‘My life went to shit a while back and all I wanted to do was get away,’ ventured Sam kindly. ‘I buggered off to an island in the middle of nowhere. And you know what I realised when I was there? That it doesn’t matter where you go, you take the problem with you. You just can’t escape.’

For a few moments they were all silent. Rain bounced off the roof like a kettle drum. Anna wasn’t going to have come all this way to let this girl curl up into a little ball and hide, however scared she was.

‘Louise, I think you know something about Amy’s death,’ she said. ‘Why she might have been killed.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Then why did you leave England three days afterwards? Why is your mum lying about where you are? Why are you pretending that none of this matters?’

‘Can’t you just leave?’

‘If that’s what you want,’ said Anna finally. ‘But look, I’m just a solicitor from London and he’s some bloke from the movies. We’re hardly MI6, and we found you easily enough. If someone with money and influence wanted to track you down, then believe me, they’d find you too. It’s obvious you’re frightened, but Sam’s right: you can’t run for ever. And whatever you know, we can help you.’

The light was dim in the cottage, but Anna could see that Louise was crying now. She moved across and the girl fell into her arms, sobbing on her shoulder. Finally she began to talk.

‘Amy and I clicked from the minute we met. We had lots in common, liked a drink, a laugh, the London party scene. She moved into my flat, I needed a bit of help with the rent, and we’d go out every night to all the launches and parties we got invited to through my work and her modelling. Amy was focused, though. She wanted to find a rich man and started going to swankier things than I could get us invited to. I went with her a couple of times but it was just a bunch of leery old men who wanted a bit on the side. And then she met someone. I only know his name was Peter. It was Peter this and Peter that. All the places he’d take her, all the stuff he bought her. She never told me his surname – apparently he was married, so she was cagey about the details of who he was – but you could tell he was rich and influential.’ She looked up at Anna.

‘Was this man one of Gilbert Bryce’s friends?’

‘I don’t think so, but she told me she met him at a country party Gilbert took her to.’

‘Was it James Swann’s party?’

‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’

Anna looked down, disappointed.

‘Can you tell me anything else about Peter?’

‘She was in love with him, you could tell that much. She told me she’d marry him in a heartbeat.’

‘But he was already married.’

‘I think she expected more from him, especially after he paid for that posh flat she was in by the Thames. But when he said he wouldn’t leave his wife, she got really angry with him. Threatened him.’

‘What with?’

‘She said she’d tell his wife.’

‘And did she?’